


The Ballad of a Dragon

by Urge



Series: The Kingdom [2]
Category: The Kingdom
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-04 23:36:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 6,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Urge/pseuds/Urge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fairy tale of epic proportions containing dragons, wizards, witches, changelings, knights, princesses, and princes. Based off of a true* story.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*true enough, anyway</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Heeeeeeeey Anna, guess what? ta daaaaa

This is a story from my childhood, of long ago, when the kingdom of Lockamus was still fresh and young. Dragons lived all about the world in solitary caverns, yet oddly, in a sort of organized family arrangement. When I think about it, their homes were the size of small kingdoms and offspring never strayed more than three kingdoms away from their parents, and when one was hurt, multiple sprang to action, rushing to aide their brethren. Changelings roamed the earth, and fairies and wizards and witches were abundant. Dwarves still forged the best metal you could find in any kingdom, and monsters were plentiful, much to the joy and often chagrin of heroes. Oh, did I forget to mention? Heroes were easy to find, too. You could hire one to exterminate a minor pestilence of borogoves or boggarts, or to take your daughter (or even son) to a cotillion or a ball, for a small fee, of course. My mother always told me not to trust those heroes – the ones that had nobleness in their veins and courtesy in every bone were the ones who would take no fee, no reward, nothing but perhaps bread and bedding for a night, in exchange for a good deed, from getting rid of a mouse to driving off a dragon, and then be gone again in the morning with a note of thanks for hosting them, feeding them, and giving them a chance to help.

The greatest hero, perhaps, went by the name of Damien. He was one of the noblest knights from the kingdom of Lockamus, ruled by the most beneficial Prince Alexander. Damien had shaggy brown hair and could often be seen riding through the fields and meadows chasing a cow that had gotten out of its pasture or escorting a caravan of noblemen or, more often, peasants to see the prince early in the morning. He was a handsome man somewhere in between his teen years and his adult life, still young enough to be able to learn, and yet strong and bold enough to assert his values and truths if he must. His hair was a shaggy sandy brown, with golden hues mixed in, as if his hair had absorbed the sun it was so often in. He had a Grecian bone structure, and his favorite color for his tunics was green. He was often flushed and exhilarated, ice blue eyes shining like lightning bugs on a warm summer night at the prospect of adventure and chances to be taken. Damien would give free lessons to village children when he had the time and he would make time for his benefactor, Prince Alexander, to learn. Alexander and Damien had an almost sibling-like relationship. Alexander housed a quiet adoration and idolization for Damien, while Damien took Alexander under his wing in everything but politics. Here, Alexander was the better. Alexander tutored Damien in the court’s manners so Damien could travel abroad and be a diplomat, as it suited his personality to a tee. 

Alexander was the dream of every village girl. (There was one boy in the village that closely and almost uncannily resembled him, but he was the son of the old shrew who tended the pub long into the morning. The woman seemed to be constantly hung-over; suffering from an inextinguishable headache. Most people thought it was from too much beer. I, personally, thought it was from worrying about what her son was going to do without her when she passed on. He had no future, until Damien and Alexander took him into their tutelage. But that’s a story for another time.) He was the tall, strong, silent and very pale type, rarely saying a word, even to his parents. He watched Damien do his good deeds from afar, admiring and constantly wishing to join him, wishing that he were as brave, as smart, as kind, as noble as Damien; maybe then he would make a good king. But alas, as Alexander grew older, he started to pull away from the world, until one fateful Luminiare. That year, he decided to do something oddly out of character for him: to give. He choose to bombard the kingdom of Subeta with gifts, given anonymously and with no chance of return or thanks, perhaps because he wanted to feel better about himself, or perhaps because he thought that this was the year he was going to change; this was the year he was going to become noble!  
It wasn’t long before this caught the eye of his faithful knight, Sir Damien. Damien knew little of Alexander at that point, but he launched into gift-giving just as avidly as Alex. Given, his gifts were smaller and less expensive, but they were given from the heart, and they meant all the more as Damien barely had enough money to clothe and feed himself. Real knights don’t have much, you know. If something gets ripped, they sew it up and keep going. They would both give gifts with little ditties, after carefully considering what they knew about that person. Soon, Alex was going after girls with his letters, and Damien was playfully trying to save them from the clutches of the evil womanizer. Then, history was made.

Alexander sent a letter to one girl who was just wandering around aimlessly and she started to talk about it. She speculated that there might be a small rivalry going on between the two, and others joined her. Within moments, Alex and Damien were communicating through their letters to each other and to the new friends. Damien was fond of a visiting princess named Shouko, and Alexander focused on the original girl, who went by Bee, publicly, but was known as Atalanta privately and to her new friends. As the lot of them grew to know each other, the letters and ditties became more and more personal, more and more caring, almost as if it were a love story.

And then all anons broke loose.

The Sugar Fairy, the Duke, the mother of the boy who looked like Alexander, a jealous princess, and everybody else seemed to come out of the woodwork. Anons bombarded the girls, and soon, there was a full-fledged legend in the making.

It’s been years since that happened, but we still remember it as our history. It’s true; though it may sound like hooey I pulled out of my slop bucket. There are more stories, but I only know one or two. What’s that, boy? You want to hear another! Well, I’m not going to tell it standing up. Get my old bones a chair. And get the broom, the floor needs sweeping. Yes, you! You can sweep while you listen.


	2. A Playful Jab

Atalanta leaned out of the window, straining to see the top of the towering, glowering castle. “Imposing, isn’t it?” she called over her shoulder to her traveling companion. Shouko nodded, never looking up from her book. “Yes, I suppose it should be. It is a fortress, after all, and dragons do live in this country. How come your home doesn’t look like this, Shouko?” Shouko sighed. Atalanta was a nervous talker, and boy, was she nervous.

“Atalanta, I don’t suppose you could sit down? If you fall out of the window, we’re not stopping.”

“Oooh, someone’s ready to see their suitor!” Atalanta jeered.

Shouko blushed. “Stop making those faces. You’ll stick that way. And besides, he’s not my suitor.”

Atalanta plopped down in her seat. “Then explain to me, please, why he invited you with the option of bringing one friend as an afterthought? Please, I’m dying to see you reason this one away.  
Shouko blushed again. “Shut up, Atalanta. But remember, Damien mentioned that Alexander was dying to see you.”

It was Atalanta’s turn to blush. She made a halfhearted scoff, and flapped her hand around in the stagnant air of the carriage. “Pssh. I’m sure Damien was just trying to make me feel better. I hope he was being serious, though,” she added under her breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”


	3. They're Here!

Alexander was in a dreamlike state when his peripheral vision caught sight of an unassuming carriage drive up the main walk. “They’re here,” he murmured, then fell off of the window seat, trying to sit up. “Ouch…” he remarked, before getting up and walking out the library. “They’re here,” he remarked to the first serving maid he saw. “They’re here,” he called into the kitchens. His pace had started out leisurely, but he realized he was almost running down the hallways in an effort to reach Damien. “They’re here!” he cried out of the window the guards. He was sprinting now, blazing past the tapestries and adjoining hallways. He burst out of the side doors into the sparring ring. “They’re here!” 

Damien had been sparring with an apprentice to the cook to get him up to speed on his moves – here, everyone from kitchen boy to prince learned the basics in swordplay – when Damien sprang out of the doors and whisked him away. “All right, Prince, we all know they’re here, you’ve been screaming it the entire way from the library,” he remarked, jogging comfortably alongside Damien, “but what I don’t understand is why you seem so excited. Alex made a face in response, never stopping to talk or even catch his breath. He was determined to get to the front courtyard before the girls dismounted from their carriage. Damien shrugged, giving up. “At least they’re better company than what we get most of the year, dour dukes and mopey monarchs abound. Hey, I should give that last bit to that wandering bard we heard last Luminiare! He’s really good, you know,” he finished as they finally drew into the compound. “Breathe, Alex,” he added as an afterthought, looking at his charge’s tight face.

Alex breathed in, realizing he had been holding his breath. “Thank you,” he said quietly, suddenly subdued, staring at the carriage drawing closer and closer. He swallowed. “Are you ready for Shouko?” he asked, nudging his knight in the side. Though Damien was technically his protector and Alexander the benefactor, they had more of a sibling relationship than a guard-guarded relationship. They teased each other, they messed with each other, but they made sure the other was safe. Damien grinned.

“Of course I am! I’ve been waiting for months! You shouldn’t have told me if you were trying to surprise me, you know,” he added, grabbing Alex in a brotherly headlock. Alex said something that was muffled as his face was buried in Damien’s side. “What was that?”

“I said it wasn’t a surprise. More of a birthday gift – and if I remember correctly, your birthday is tomorrow.”

Damien nodded. “Good job, Princeling. You’re learning about how to care for others.”

“Oh, pish.”

**

“You know, Shouko, I can’t seem to fathom why we don’t just ride horses from your castle to here.”

“Because, Atalanta, the horses would tire, and we wouldn’t be able to stay here long,” Shouko sighed. 

“Put up your book. Shouko, put it up! We’re here, and Damien’s waiting for you!”


	4. A Strange Wind

Alex was practically bouncing up and down with happy anticipation, practically ready to start crowing. Damien was just as excited, but a little better at hiding it. His eyes didn’t try to hide it, though, and they were flashing and dancing just as fireflies would on a summer night. Alex’s choppy black bangs were suddenly blown off of his face and up as a gust of violent winter wind blew. Atalanta had just gotten out of the carriage and her skirt flew above her knees – an indecency that no one over the age of six should have to suffer outside of the forest or bedroom. Alexander and Damien stood, the color of tomatoes vibrant on their embarrassed countenances, frozen to the point where they couldn’t move. “I… ah… oh, dear,” Damien stuttered. Atalanta was just as embarrassed, if not more, and was hastily putting her impossibly heavy skirts back into place. “Are… are you all right?” Atalanta nodded, somewhat shaken, and stepped out of the way for her traveling companion to emerge from the vehicle. Damien’s face lost all embarrassment, and he immediately stepped up to offer her his hand. “My dear,” he murmured. Shouko’s face was a beam of happiness with a tinge of curiosity.

“I’ve never been here before,” Shouko said. “The countryside is quite beautiful. Your subjects are quite productive when it comes to food production.”

Alex waved this comment aside. “No, no! No formal talks or politics today, please! We’re all here to have fun and to see our friends!” He smiled at Atalanta, regaining his former confidence. He was boosted another three feet when she smiled back at him. “But I wonder where this unseasonably cool and windy weather could have come from! It was balmy just a minute ago…”


	5. A Malevolent Face

A malevolent face glared out of the window, staring the excited, happy group down. “Who does he think he is?” she muttered to herself. The thick glass prevented her from doing much to them, but she still could send a few elements their way to make the day unpleasant. “Who does _she_ think _she_ is?! I’m a princess, infinitely more important than a meager _duchess_ from the lakes and a princess from the barbaric mountains! They know nothing! Why are they here, taking _my_ Princeling away from me? He’s mine.” She narrowed her eyes a slit harder. “Mine, do you hear?”

She turned away from the window roughly, her hair hitting the window just a splattering of rain smacked against it.


	6. How Rude!

Atalanta made a small cry of surprise as the first band of rain passed over them. “Oh,” she said.  Alexander grabbed her hand, and pulled her inside. Damien did the same, calling over his shoulder to the driver of the carriage, “Please put their things in the foyer! We’ll get the scullery maids to put them up!”

Shouko was laughing at Atalanta’s surprise at the rain when what felt like a bucket emptying out onto her hair plastered her hair down. “Ach!” she cried, and pulled Damien into the foyer more than he pulled her. “Oooh… my hair…. It’s ruined.”

Atalanta stifled a giggle. “More than that, Shouk. Come on, let’s get you dried off.”

Shouko made another face, and then hid it. They ran up four flights of stairs and were rounding a corner when Atalanta stopped suddenly. “Hello,” a condescending voice snaked down the stairs to the ears of Shouko. “And _who,_ exactly, are _you?_ ”

Atalanta opened her mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. “Atalanta,” she said quietly. Her eyes travelled up from the girl’s pursed, thin lips, to her equine nose, to her icy eyes, and then took in the crown resting on top of her thick, luxurious blonde hair. “Your Majesty,” she added, sweeping a low curtsey, almost touching the floor. Shouko copied her, though not quite as deep, as she was also royalty.

“I suppose you two are Alexander’s guests.”

“You’ve supposed right, your Majesty.”

“Open your mouth wider when you talk. It saves time. And always say your Majesty at the end of every sentence when addressing a royal.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” Atalanta enunciated. She was already familiar with the etiquette of court, and she was smart enough to know that this princess – or perhaps queen – was toying with her.

“You may address me as Princess Jiani.”

“Yes, Princess Jiani – your Majesty.

Princess Jiani passed them; ignoring Shouko, save for an offhand comment meant to burn. “Oh, and you might want to do something about her face.”

Shouko’s mouth dropped open in rather annoyed surprise. As soon as Jiani was out of earshot, she let loose. “How rude!” she cried as they emerged out onto their hallway, fuming at the disrespectful young princess. The rooms they were to stay in were open and empty except for their clothes.

“She definitely was brusque with us,” Atalanta conceded. “But I suppose she’s not having a good day.”


	7. Not a Good Day

Jiani stalked down the stairs. Not a good day, indeed! Her love was being stolen out from under her nose as she thought these treacherous thoughts of murder and witchcraft. “Ugh!” She simply couldn’t find a word foul enough to voice her feelings for this girl.

“Ugh!!”


	8. Dense

Alexander was helping to oversee the proceedings of tonight’s banquet. It was a special occasion – his birthday. There were visiting dignitaries from across the ocean, including one blonde princess from the Netherlands. She was very rough around the edges, but if you had a tough skin, she was easy enough to get along with. It was almost unsettling sometimes – she went through mood swings like a pregnant mother with five children already. She could be candyfloss sweet to Alexander one second, and a biting adder to Damien the next.

_Now let me clear something up for you, before you start asking questions and interrupting me._

_Alexander was dense. And I mean D-E-N-S-E, dense. He could be one stupid block of rock if you got him drunk – but he usually avoided alcohol like the plague, for that exact reason. (I’ll tell you that story next.) So he didn’t notice that her “mood swings” were actually shows of affection – for him. It’s a laughable concept, yes, and very clichéd, but it’s disturbingly true._


	9. Ten Minutes

Damien sighed. He was already anxious, and now, the rain had ruined most of the food for the banquet. The kitchens had to start all over again, and they were short three stags. He and Alexander would have to go hunting in the short amount of time allotted, and in the rain, no less. He traipsed upstairs after sending a messenger to alert Alex of the change. He sighed again, and hesitantly knocked on the girls’ doors. “Atalanta? Shouko? Alexander and I are having to go hunting for dinner.” He paused, and chuckled at how homey this sounded. “Will you two be all right?”

Atalanta stuck her head out of Shouko’s doorway. “Could I come?” There was a _hem_ ming noise in the background. “Sorry, Shouk. Can _we_ come?”

Damien looked surprised, then nodded. “Yes, of course you can. But you do know we will be… ah… killing things, right?”

Atalanta gave him a sarcastic glance. “No. We’re going to go searching for bunnies. We’re going hunting; of course we’re going to kill something!” Damien smiled, and then shrugged.

“Get ready; you have ten minutes.”


	10. The Sensation of the Bow

“Hunting? I haven’t done that since I was a little girl with my father!” Shouko said to her friend, muffled through a thick towel to take the kohl and rouge off of her face. Atalanta nodded, already into trousers. She laid Shouko’s pair out onto the bed – she was still the princess’s lesser, even though she was her friend, and she wanted to help Shouko. Shouko was very, very nice, but she could be sort of… helpless? No, that’s not the word – ah! there it is! – She could be very deluded when it came to the real world. Atalanta hadn’t grown up with a very cushy life – better than a farmer, yes, but not much better than a merchant. Her family didn’t have any servants other than a wonderful cook who was like a very fat, very lovable aunt to Atalanta, and an old gardener that her parents were very fond of – he created the best flowers, vegetables, and fruits in the country. His products were much sought after and made him a lot of pocket money along with his generous salary. She grew up dressing herself, doing chores, and taking care of her own little peach tree in the back garden. Her father worked in court for Shouko’s parents, and her mother was a masterful painter and artist. Atalanta was neither. She wasn’t the biggest fan of politics, and she couldn’t draw a square to save her life. She enjoyed other things – gardening if she could, hunting occasionally, and reading and playing. She was much like a regular child, though admittedly better educated. She had especially excelled in storytelling and hunting. She became proficient with a sling, and not bad with a bow and arrow. She couldn’t stomach skinning, though, she left that to others. Families were always happy to have an extra pair of quiet hands with them when they went hunting, so her friends would recruit her. Her family had money enough to buy their meat and barley, so she was a _free_ pair of hands, a hefty bonus in a hungering family’s mind. Fathers taught her swordplay, and mothers taught her how to knit. Commonplace things like this were the best things to her. Harvest day was especially one of her favorite times. She would run though fields, collecting things people handed to her and giving the scythe a try whenever she could talk someone into it.

As she grew older, she went hunting less and less, and though she could best most of the boys in the village at swordplay, the development of her body (though small) made her frame lanky and awkward. She lost her tight movements and gave up fighting. (She could still kill a rat with a stone, though.) She still practiced with a bow, but soon, her friends were involved with other things, and interested in other things, so she didn’t go hunting anymore.

She still remembered the sensation of a bow in her hand, her calloused fingers drawing the string taut in preparation for a release. She remembered the sound of clanging metal upon metal, shrieking knives across shields. She was very, very ready for this hunt.

 


	11. I'll Just Walk Him

Alexander shivered. He was wearing an oiled cloak, but he was still chilled and wet. He jumped from foot to foot before Atalanta and Shouko emerged. “My word, I think it’s going to snow!” Shouko cried. The first flake landed on her outstretched palm. “My word, it’s snowing!” she said, laughing and revising her statement. The sky was turning white as they watched.

Damien rounded the corner of the courtyard leading to the stables with four horses in his hands – one mare and three stallions. “Sorry, but they only had one mare available. Will you be able to handle it, Shouko?” Shouko shook her head. “Oh, dear. Atalanta?”

“Yes, I do suppose I could give it a shot. If worst comes to worse, then I’ll just walk him.” She smiled around, then mounted her horse. Everyone followed her lead, and then she motioned at the boys. “Lead the way.”


	12. Ugh!

“UGH!” Jiani cried. “How is this happening?! I sent _rain,_ then _snow,_ and they’re _still having fun? They’re going hunting in this weather?!”_ She was fuming. She froze when she sensed a presence in the room along with her. She was in one of the turrets, and the window on the opposite side of the room was open. The doors were locked. She slowly turned around. “It’s about _time_ you got here. I’ve been waiting ages, and they won’t stop getting closer to each other. It’s Alexander’s birthday tonight, and my father was going to propose that concession to him. I don’t want anything to screw that up.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” came the rough reply.

“Take someone. Anyone. Create a disturbance – no, take this one. And just this one.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”


	13. Having Any Luck?

Shouko sat with her body close to her mare for warmth, shivering and useless with a bow. Shouko was all right at archery, but only in warm weather. In bad weather, her hands shook and threw off her arrow. She was better with a crossbow, and that’s what she held now. Silently she drew back the bolt and released. A cry arose from the buck that had been foraging. “After it!” she cried to Damien. The two set off at a breakneck pace following it, hoping that it would get tired sooner rather than later, and chased it with bolt after arrow after bolt. Damien hit the stag in the heart, and it quietly and quickly died. He quickly dismounted and knelt over the poor creature, blessing it and then straightening to blow his hunting horn. Almost immediately, two soldiers appeared from out of the trees on horseback to retrieve the steaming body.  “One,” Shouko mused. “I wonder if Alex and Atalanta are having any luck?”

 


	14. Not Fastened Properly

They were, in fact, having much luck. Alex had already bagged three large bucks and Atalanta was getting back into the swing and pace of hunting, hitting another stag. When they heard the horn, they knew that they had at least five, and that was all they needed to feed the court. Atalanta smiled at Alex, who returned it. They put their drawn arrows back into their respective quivers, and Atalanta took the opportunity to adjust her saddle. Alex gave her a look. “It wasn’t fastened properly. I was falling off.” He nodded, understanding.


	15. A Diplomat

Jiani cursed. Her plan to get Atalanta to fall off of her horse hadn’t worked. “Dammit! If I didn’t know better, I’d say she has a charm on her!” She groaned and fell back, away from the window where she was watching the group ride in triumphantly from their miniature hunt.

She made her way downstairs and sighed, composing herself before she faced anyone. She strode purposefully into the room, doing her best to own it the way she coveted. Her neck was tall, her back arched, and her eyes wide open. _(She didn’t yet realize this made her look like a goose!)_ She drew stares, but not for the way she imagined. She looked like a fool, but she believed she looked regal. Her governesses had long given up trying to tell her otherwise.

Jiani was a princess from across the sea, far to the north, from the Netherlands. She was imposing and demanding, and she was a general nuisance to have around, as she virtually knew nothing other than flawed arts and that she wanted to be the ruler of a large kingdom, or a small empire, preferably. She didn’t enjoy human companionship, as she felt an acute paranoia that everyone was trying to steal from her everything that she knew and wanted, as she loved nothing and no one but power, which she didn’t have. She had had no power over her life or situations, and had to bend to her father’s will under every condition. She could dictate nothing in her life – or so they thought.

She had quickly grown tired of a life that required her to do nothing and say nothing; though not of the privileged lifestyle she had lived in for her entire life. With the help of a blackmailed cook, she became proficient in the magical arts – specifically, dark magic. She couldn’t care less about benefiting the world, or helping her subjects, as the old crone had suggested; rather, she benefited herself and used her newfound power to get her way almost all of the time. Very few knew they were being manipulated and those who did were also magical. Instead, they felt a vague wish to do the bidding of their princess, no matter the consequences. She didn’t dare control her father this way – it would leave most of the decisions up to her, and she didn’t want responsibility, only power! – so she left him to his own devices until it came to specific matters regarding her. Most young women were married at the age of fourteen or older, and princesses were no exception. She had evaded this matrimonial issue through nothing other than witchcraft. She manipulated the situation to where an old widower, already on his deathbed, would propose to her, and when he subsequently died, she would go into a period of mourning for a year or two, and, after reviewing the prospects, choosing a suitor who appealed to her. All was going according to plan before Prince Alexander caught her eye.

When she was still in her time of “sadness” for her late betrothed, she had come across Alexander at a political convention. Her father liked to show her off, and she liked to be shown off, so she didn’t quibble about this point. She was sitting astute and fragile on her chair when Alexander and Damien had entered the room, flushed and panting. “So sorry – so sorry!” they had repeated over and over. This display of regret had immediately caught her attention – she had always been trained to act as if she were in the right – and even if this hadn’t, the beauty and almost mournful look of him certainly would have. She was drawn to him and approached him immediately after the (not very productive) session was disbanded. She introduced herself and her father (whom she had dragged along with her), formulating a plan in which would finagle herself a spot in Alexander’s court for a few years, where he was bound to fall in love with her. And if that didn’t work, then she would use some more magic. Look where it had gotten her: nothing but happiness (or what she supposed was happiness; she didn’t have anything to compare it to); it could further her and get her into a better position for her empire!

Soon, a position rose for a diplomat in Alex’s country, and Jiani quickly convinced her father that it would be beneficial to her education and would further her learning. Her father couldn’t find a reason to say no, so she was sent off to Lockamus. She had quickly grown accustomed to the traditions and mannerisms of the court in a foreign country, and though they spoke different tongues, they were very similar and the sentence form was virtually identical. Her accent was heavy and this would always mark her as foreign, but otherwise, she was Location in all ways. She liked the styles there more and the people were much more eager to please than in her home country of do-it-yourself-ness. But she was still spoiled here, and though she didn’t bend quite as many people to her will here, she did do it, nonetheless.

Because of all this, she was sour to anyone who contradicted her, or hindered her interests and advances toward them. When she had discovered Alexander and Damien’s illogical fascination with these commonplace girls, she decided to stop it. She had originally masqueraded in many forms, including the Hidden Princess, and even got the Duke to help her. But he didn’t work, nor did the other forms of deterrents. One time, one of her handmaidens even sent an apology for her mistress’ fallacies! The girl was instantly punished, and had only recently emerged from the swine yards.

She was utterly convinced that this was her last chance to stop this love interest from taking over her rightful places as queen of Lockamus – these girls, this _Atalanta_ , were trying to stop her empire before it had even taken form! So she had enlisted outside help. The help had its directions, to be followed out tonight. Before long, that swatch of unseemly russet red hair would be forever gone from her life.

And she would be there to comfort Alexander in his despair.


	16. Sorry, Ma'am

Much later, a heavenly smell wafted out of the kitchens. Atalanta floated in, following her nose, almost dancing. “Is that the deer?” she queried. The cook nodded and smiled at her.

“Would you like a taste?”

“Oh, yes, please!”

“You deserve it, miss. What with you helping Sir Damien and Prince Alexander get this mutton – without you we wouldn’t have a feast for his birthday anniversary.” She smiled fondly at Atalanta, remembering her own daughter. Atalanta returned the smile after swallowing her last tidbit of mutton. “Was it that good?”

Atalanta nodded readily. “Really good. You did a great job, since you didn’t have as much time as was best for cooking this meat, but you managed to make it taste better than it usually does – or at least, better than it does at home.” Atalanta was always courteous to servants, but this cook reminded her strongly of her own, who had been her nanny and best friend for years.

The cook smiled, and then turned back to her potatoes. “Have fun tonight, eh, miss?”

Atalanta beamed at her. “Yes, ma’am!” She stood, put her stool back to where it originally was, and left the room. She passed Jiani on her way to the grand hall. She swept a low curtsey, opened her mouth wide, and said, “Your Majesty. How are your preparations for the night going?” She truly didn’t care, but she was rather obliged to ask, as the princess looked rather like a peacock that required admiration. “And… your neck looks… strained.” Like a goose, she thought. “Are you all right?”

Jiani scoffed. “Of course I’m all right! I’m better than all right! And my neck doesn’t look strained, it looks regal!”

“Of course, your Majesty.”

“My plans are going astoundingly well, if you must ask. My dress is ready, and I am going to be dressed and trussed.” She was preening, Atalanta thought. “All of my other plans are in motion, and there will be a surprise tonight that no one will forget. My present to Alexander will be astounding.” Among other things, she malevolently imagined. “You are dismissed,” she added as Atalanta rose to leave. Atalanta cast her a skeptical look, as if she were saying, really, over her shoulder as she left.

She practically skipped through the hallways, feeling quite free in her hunting clothes, but then remembered that it wasn’t truly proper for her to be in pants. She sighed, and took the closest stairway up to the third floor. She exited onto the hallway of her room, and was soon in her small closet, choosing what to wear. She sighed – her clothes weren’t very grand, exactly, and she had no time to get a better gown. She rubbed her neck, and an idea struck her. “Needlepoint!” she exclaimed. She wasn’t the best at it, but she enjoyed embellishments more than anything that had to do with needles. She rifled through the mess on her boudoir and pulled out her needles and thread. Within moments, she had chosen a dark blue gown with three-quarter sleeves and an open, square neck. She choose not to wear the collar that was attached to it – she unceremoniously cut it off and started sewing the lace to the sleeves, to create frills on her arms, and perhaps to draw attention away from her neckline. She added some gold embroidery spiraling up from the cuffs like there was gold rain falling and turning in midair on her sleeves. She sewed a golden sash that she made from some excess fabric from a too-long gold gown, and created a falling, turning pattern on her skirt from shining thread and some embellishments made of a few coins, pounded flat with a hammer she had found on her first hour here in the corner, sewn in for the big pieces (just four or five), and beads taken from a gaudy and ugly necklace her mother had packed into her case, and little flower embellishments sewn in, a feat of the ages for her semi-clumsy and inartistic fingers. She surveyed her handiwork after tending to her pricked and tired fingers, and was thoroughly impressed. “How did I pull this off?” she muttered to herself. “Ah, well. Not gonna do this again,” she added. She shrugged and wiggled out of her clothes. She took a soothing bath, washing her hair with a sweet, rosemary-scented soap, and dried off. After she had gotten into her slip, a handmaiden came in to help her with her clothes. She smiled at the girl, and then choked as her corset was pulled tight. “My… God!” she whispered in between gasps.

“Sorry, ma’am,” the girl said in a wide brogue accent. She smiled up at Atalanta with her front teeth missing. The girl was no older than ten. Atalanta managed a smile, and replied with, “It’s all right.”

She suffered through the dressing process. Soon, a troupe of hairdressers and stylists walked in. “Ah! Darrllling, zis ‘air! We moost displee eet to eets peek!” Atalanta nodded, grimacing under all the pulling. “No moving!” snapped one of the people working on her bangs. She swallowed, nervous – she was never very comfortable with being pretty, or being in dresses, or being looked at. And at that point, all three were happening, and she could not get away.

She couldn’t get away.

 


	17. A Slow Waltz

The sky had darkened, and guests were streaming through the gates of the castle courtyard. Flamboyant dresses and flaming colors broke the night, and music wheedled out of the open doors and windows into the gardens. Shouko was arm-in-arm with Damien, leaning her head against his strong shoulders. The night was young and crisp, and she felt as though she were dreaming. Nothing bad had happened, and the banquet was set to begin in half an hour. “Isn’t this just amazing, Damien?” she queried. He nodded back, always a man of few words, but smiling nonetheless.

The orchestra started playing a slow waltz, and Damien stepped back in a semi-bow, holding out his hand for her to take. “May I have this dance, milady?” he asked his eyes searching and genuine. Shouko took his hand and let him lead her in the dance, enthralled.


	18. A Time of Celebration

Atalanta made her way down the stairs directly into the ballroom, greeting dignitaries on her way to the thrones, and finally swept a low curtsey to the dowager queen, who smiled back at her. Shouko and the queen looked remarkably alike, but it was of no consequence tonight. “Atalanta, I presume? I am very glad for the chance to meet you,” the queen said in a lulling, soothing voice. Atalanta nodded. “Have fun tonight. It’s a time of celebration, after all.”


	19. My Target

Jiani watched from the other end of the hall, eyes burning, as Atalanta and the queen became familiar. “This is my chance! That girl shouldn’t be talking to her! She’s only a duchess!” She scoffed. “And a lowly one, at that.” She rolled her eyes at their backs, and turned around to see none other than a young man, no older than fifteen, perched precariously behind her on the thin windowsill, resting easily on the balls of his feet. “You!” she gasped, glancing around quickly to ensure that no one was privy to their conversation. “Why are you here?”

The boy chuckled, rolling his eyes at her surprise and shaking shaggy green-tinted hair away from his striking yellow orbs. “Making sure of my target. Duh. You should know by now that I’m not going to get caught, anyway. No one noticed me, and no one will. Unless, of course, you wan-”

She sneered at him, displeasure and disgust evident in every crease of her ugly expression. “She’s there! You’ve seen her; now go!” She shoved him out of the window, turning away before she could see the annoyance on his face. His fall and departure were oddly silent, though no one but the two of them knew why. Nothing but the sound of wings beating the air could be heard in the stillness of the night.


	20. A Short Complaint

_My throat hurts. Can I stop now? What? I can’t? Why not? Grandson, you should know that I’ll be here in the morning. No? Keep going? Fine. But you owe me one very hot lemon tea._


	21. Your Own Ball

 Alexander stood up from his place at the banquet table after everyone had finished with their meals. A hush quickly fell over the crowd as they anticipated what he was to say next. “Let the ball begin!” he declared, and the room emptied but for two peoples other than him. One was Atalanta, and the other was Jiani. Jiani had been sitting only three seats away from him, so she reached him first. She draped herself over his shoulders, cloyingly sweet, only to be abruptly dismissed as he continued walking towards Atalanta.

“Happy birthday, my liege,” Atalanta murmured. “Twenty-two today. Are you ready? Your mother says that she will be passing on the throne to you entirely today.”

Alex shrugged, a faint smirk crossing his lips. “I’m ready, I suppose. But I’ll need the trusted advice of my best friends to make sure that I’m making the right decisions. Friends like you, Shouko, and Anna.”

Atalanta grimaced a bit, smiling through the grit. She was just a friend. As she had suspected, this was all she could ever be.

“Come, Prince. You mustn’t be late for your own ball.”


End file.
